Dope is like a two-way street:
The addiction, both you and me, now take a seat.
Every car got a fleet, every broad get a Jeep,
Every sparkle in the club that wasn’t ours, we compete.
Poor minds, poor decision makers;
No reward…then what’s the risk you taking?
Reporting live from the project benches:
Hella caine, dope in cellophane, dirty syringes,
Heron zombies street-walking on three-week binges.
Clientele look like the Thriller vid in 3D lenses.
Only thing we have in common: niggas bleed,
In ya thousand dollar joggers as you rhyme about ya dollars.
Is there shame when a platinum rapper’s mother lives in squalor?
I’m on a crash course where talent meets timing.
Christopher Wallace, Think Big, keep climbin’,
Reasonable Doubt, drug era, keep climbin’,
I’m my brother’s keeper, Lord Willin’, keep Grindin’.
When you feeding on hate, you empty, my nigga. It shows.
Pain is joy when it cries, it’s my smile in disguise.
This is my time, this is my hour,
This is my pain, this is my name, this is my power.
If it’s my reign, then it’s my shower,
This pole position…I made a lane ‘cause they blocked ours.
My mama didn’t see it comin, my daddy was there.
What’s my excuse? Cartoons were the root.
Started with Yosemite Sam
With the gun in the palm of the hand,
What couldn’t I demand?
Success is what you make it, take it how it come.
A half a mil in twenties, like a billion where I’m from.
An arrogant drug dealer, the legend I become,
CNN said I’d be dead by 21.
Blackjack…I just pulled an ace,
As you looking at the king in his face.
We shoppers, you bloggers.
If money talks, you mumblers.
You try it on, then take it off,
Then post a pic on your tumblrs.
I got a voodoo doll every time I pen a verse:
Not only do they say they feel it, but they say it hurts.